


Divided Loyalties

by woodsong_1978 (Vae)



Category: Firefly
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, doctor/patient confidentiality, secrets and lies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-23
Updated: 2008-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-29 23:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/woodsong_1978
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some ties have to be stronger than the loyalty of a doctor to his captain</p>
            </blockquote>





	Divided Loyalties

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apieceofcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apieceofcake/gifts).



> Firefly is owned by Fox, Universal and Joss Whedon. I make no profit from this work of fanfiction
> 
> Written for apieceofcake for midwinter 2007 (oops late), thanks to lvs2read for beta services

"Does he know?" It's the closest Simon's willing to come to acknowledging that there's still some kind of bond between Inara and the captain. Mal. His lover, and yet not _his_. Still distant, still _angry_ , but somehow his.

It's not the most comfortable situation, but Simon's grown used to that. He sacrificed his right to comfort when he left home, broke the law, kidnapped his own sister, and he doesn't regret it. Much. Often.

Inara fastens the last tie on her dress and lifts hair out of her bodice, letting it fall across her shoulders and meeting his eyes steadily. "No, he doesn't."

Simon sighs, soft enough to be almost inaudible, and strips off his gloves, dropping them in the disposal. "You have to tell him, Inara. He's going to find out sooner or later."

"Not from me." Smoothing her skirts, she stands, and crosses the room to lay a hand on Simon's arm. "And not from you. Please, Simon."

No, not from him. He can't. He's _bound_ to keep Inara's secret. He nods, slowly, not moving to encourage or discourage her touch. "Very well, but please, think about what I've said."

"I will, Simon. I'll think about it." There's something undefinable in her eyes, something hidden in liquid dark depths, something behind the brisk determination that's all she's let him see so far. "But he doesn't need to know yet."

"Who doesn't need to know what? 'Cause if there's not knowing going on, I'm wanting to not be the one who's not knowing."

Mal. Of course. With his usual impeccable timing, and filling the doorway to the infirmary just as Simon's turned to return Inara's embrace. Simon's very well aware of exactly what it looks like to the captain. And possibly what it sounds like, depending on how much of the conversation he'd overheard. Mal has a positive genius for misconstruing half-heard conversations.

"Patient confidentiality," Simon tells him briskly, stepping back from Inara and turning his attention towards his captain. He can almost taste the suspicion, Mal's eyes dark with it, brows heavy, and yet he knows as surely as he knows himself that Mal won't simply voice his suspicions. He'll push, and poke, and prod verbally until someone breaks down and tells him.

It won't be Simon. Patient confidentiality is a sacred trust, and he's glad of it. It's something he doesn't want to have to tell Mal. It's something he doesn't want to have to keep from Mal, either, but that's Inara's choice. He can only hope that Mal won't react too badly to the news. There's no point in hoping that Mal _won't_ react badly. Not to this.

"It's none of your business, Mal." Silks rustle as Inara approaches the doorway, her public mask back on her face. A mask so perfect that Simon hadn't known it for a mask until the day she'd shown him the woman behind it, frightened, determined and courageous. Stronger than the woman with the small half-smile and the twinkle of amusement in her eyes, edge of superiority to brush away unwanted attentions.

Mal makes no move to clear the doorway, instead shifting to lean a shoulder against the frame, legs and arms crossing. "That so? I don't take kindly to folks keeping secrets on my boat, and if there's knowing to be doing, I'll be knowing it."

"I have more secrets than you'll ever know, Captain Reynolds." The mask slips, just far enough, to show the edge of anger beneath, and that's what Simon fears. Still. The way that Mal immediately cuts through every one of Inara's defenses, the way that Inara slides under Mal's shielding layers of levity, the way they can't help but connect so directly that Simon becomes acutely aware of his own distance from the captain.

Locking the medicine cabinets, Simon looks from one to the other, and wonders when the truth became so complicated. "Were you looking for something, Captain?"

From the way Mal's eyes snap across to him and then flash back to Inara, it seems that Mal had briefly forgotten that Simon was even present. "Just came to find Inara, let our ambassador know we're approaching Osiris, might be needing her to show her credentials."

Simon nods, just once. "I think we're done here. Inara?"

"Yes." She doesn't even look at him, showing the back of her glossy head as her attention stays with the captain. "We're done. Two weeks?"

"One," Simon corrects, gently but firmly. "One week."

Mal's eyebrows fly up, but he doesn't comment on that, moving further into the room and seating himself firmly on the stool. "And we'll be wanting you on the bridge now, if you're thinking you can fit that little job into your schedule."

Skirts sweep the floor as Inara moves to the door, and pauses. "Captain?"

"Right behind you." Mal's not moving, though his gaze strays to Inara for a heartbeat before returning to Simon. "Just needing a word with the doctor."

Very probably not the word that Simon was prepared to give, but he nods, completes his notes, and locks the datapad securely away in a drawer as Inara leaves. "Captain?"

Mal pushes up from the stool, checks that Inara's truly gone, and slides the door securely closed, latching it. "Mal," he corrects mildly.

It's not enough to ease suspicion - he's not confident that the implication of intimacy, even equality, isn't being used merely to persuade him to lower a guard that he can't and won't lower. "Mal," he repeats, leaning back against the counter, rubbing his hands slowly together to spread the sanitizer evenly over his skin.

Mal nods, and leans in his turn, against the newly closed doors, his head blocking the window. "So, she's..."

Of course. Inara. Mal could be referring to River, even Kaylee. Possibly Zoe, even less likely to be Serenity, but Simon would wager his last credit - if he had one - that the 'she' in question is Inara. "No, Mal."

"Doc..." Impatience flavors Mal's tone, echoed in his posture. The shift of shoulders, slight flare of nostrils, fold of arms.

It's all the latch Simon needs. "Precisely, Captain. I'm her _doctor_. I can't give you details of her treatment without her consent."

"So she's being treated?" Light in Mal's eyes, the edge of a smirk. Like he's scored a point.

Maybe he has.

"Mal!" Simon folds his arms in turn, taking the invited intimacy. He can't - won't - admit even that much. It's not his to tell, even that there may be something to be told.

Mal lifts an eyebrow. "Ain't gonna make this an order, Simon."

Simon closes his eyes, counts to ten, draws in a deep breath, and sticks to the script. "Good. Because I'm not telling you."

"Simon!"

"No, Mal!" His voice rises with his temper, lao tian ye, can the man show _no_ respect for him at all?

Apparently not. "You think long and hard about that, Doctor," Mal warns, voice low and dark. "Think real hard regards the rights of keeping secrets from your captain. Then, when you're ready to tell me, you just call." He taps the intercom on the wall, and hauls the door open. Two strides take him out, and the look on his face before the door slides closed again is enough to let Simon know that he's lucky to escape being punched this time.

Shame, because the heat rising tight and angry in his chest would definitely appreciate the excuse to retaliate. Tian a, he's never been a violent man. Never wanted to think of himself as a violent man, it's not who he is. He heals, he does not harm. It's in his oath. Sometimes, though, he's sure that a well-placed punch to Mal would count as healing, rather than harm. It's only Mal that does this to him, effortlessly reaches deep inside him and slices patience to ragged shreds with a few carelessly sharp words.

He's rarely been closer to hating Inara than he is now, for putting him in such a position. A position she has to be aware of. A position where - he tests the door and punches it, once, sliding down to sit on the floor with his back resting against it - he's locked in his own infirmary.

Again.


End file.
